


why are you at a party if youre sad??

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath, Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Do Not, Gen, God Tier Powers, However you spell it - Freeform, Impulses, Introspection, Party, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roxy is a good friend, They ARE brothers, but its more of an auspitice thing, call this a ship fic, character introspection, dave and dirk talk, dave beats the shit out of dirk, dave goes apeshit, dirk apologizes, do not romanticize this, generally has a negative impact on people, god i love kanaya and roxy, going through violence as a child, i also have dave and jake interact, if you call this stridercest i will kill you on impact, its gratifying, just a little bit, kanaya kinda shooshes dave, kanaya the auspiticer, kind of hurt comfort but not really, lmao i hate hs2, long lasting trauma, no epilogues here period, roxy is just helping dave, so like, thats just it babey, then he gets better, they save the day it is no suprise, this is not a ship fic, this shit is NOT cash money, time aspect being weird, under any circumstances, you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: that should not have happenedin that apartmentnobody can hear youthat small small apartment--------TL;DREverything's happening at once?Damn, time to fall apart!
Kudos: 7





	why are you at a party if youre sad??

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for myself.Please do not romanticize this, and please seek help if you find yourself in a bad situation! You are so loved

He felt so, so encompassingly dizzy that Dave thought he was going to be sick. There were a lot of things happening, and rather than the slow, symphonic regression of state, he found himself tumbling tactlessly down a hole that he couldn't climb back out of. Hell, he was starting to wonder why he even came. His first instinct had been to get crazy drunk, but that was a Rose and Roxy thing (he would never say that to their faces), and besides - getting shitfaced in a place like this would only cause problems.   
  
The party was supposed to be an anniversary of sorts. Although, everyone knew it was just an excuse to find something worth celebrating. Everyone was tired - at least, thats how Dave was choosing to understand things these days. After all, the thought of everyone finding a way to keep on fighting after the battle was such a perfect swan dive into stupid that he would have laughed if confronted by it.

  
He had situated himself by the bar anyway, on high alert and sweating far too much to be comfortable (he wouldn't be surprised if people thought he was drunk). He felt like a live wire had been shoved down throat, each breath consisting of liquid and electricity, to the point where every time he exhaled he could feel his brain floundering. Dave knew that he was self narrating; he had starting doing that recently, putting his feelings into sentences so that maybe he could figure out what was wrong in the first place. Damn, he wished that he could shut up. Dave probably thought just as much as he talked; it was fucking _torture_.

Ever since they made it to Earth C, Dave had started wearing an elastic headband - one which clung tight around his head like a hug, keeping his bangs out of his sunglasses and pressed against his head. John had joked that he looked more like Rose now, but in reality he was just sick and tired of his hair - it hung over his eyes, greasy and uncomfortable, and no matter how many times he pushed it back, he would always be tired of looking back at himself with witless, beat eyes.

_He was eight at the time, his left eye was a swollen batter of plum, skin tinted like urine and rust against the purple backdrop - it was quite visible under his glasses - the ridiculous ( ironic, they were ironic, so it was okay) anime shades hid much less than the Ben Stiller shades. Much more of a gift than John thought. The mirror was practically sweating after his shower, although the bathroom tiles still had the gall to be freezing against his sensitive ankles._

Trying to derail his chain of thoughts, Dave began to drum his fingers against the glass of water that used to have ice, paying attention to the tiled floor. It was a poor job, in fact, who ever had chosen the nights venue could probably have been awarded shittiest job of the century. And Dave would know, he had access to time itself. It was to the point that even then, when leaning against the bar and so grounded in the moment that he could feel the tension knotting into his shoulders, he could feel that same titillation that came with time travel - pulled taut like rubber over each second. Time itself could no better be explained than by rings on a tree - it was like a muscle that could tap into when he needed, it was such a visceral thing that he could feel the ridge of each timeline under his skin like a second set of bones. Of course, it never bothered Dave this much.  
  
Nothing really bothered Dave this much, but something about the clamoring of voices and yells, the slideshow of images that his brain struggled to chug through was overwhelming. Maybe Dave was just sick. God tiers couldn't get sick though, hypothetically speaking, but even then - something was very wrong. 

_It was always quiet when they fought, to the point that it curdled in his stomach, seeping like spoiled milk into his swollen elbows and neck. That was the trick, he had to be ready, he had to rely on more than just what he heard. Bro was getting him ready, and now Dave knew why - it was for the session, but how did he even know in the first place? He had to be ready. It was a mantra, haunting against the work hymns that pelted his brain into functioning, watch out, watch out, watch out._

Dave didn't notice when Dirk came up to chat.   
  
_Watch out, watch out, watch out.  
  
_"too cool to party? I get th-" Dave felt his heart stop, suddenly very aware of the sweat gathering in his palms, his eyes wide under his shades. It was a moment, just after Dirk approached him that his face twisted, teeth grit in horror - that Dirk's own expression faltered. His chest was tight, it ached and pounded, his very throat tightened at the memory.  
  
He moved without thinking, left arm swinging the full glass of water at full strength against Dirks cheek. He didn't expect to knock Dirks shades off, more so than not expecting the glass to smash against the cup of Dirks face.  
  
_Bleeding. This time it wasn't his, but thats not right. If there is blood, it means that he is bleeding. He has to fight. Thats how the routine goes._

He would never forget Dirks expression, any stoicism wiped away into shock, orange eyes wide in a half wince which was sunken in blood. He could win this, after all - this was the guy who taught him to fight, he knew him, he could fight. Dave couldn't breathe, in fact his entire stomach felt jaunty - he could hardly remember what was going on, his head was pounding and the only thing he could recall was that he had to fight or his Bro would clock him into next week. He had grown though, he was stronger than all those years ago, this time he could finally win. Bro would be proud, hell, not even that, he would survive, his Bro would leave him alone.

Drawing his sword - Dave struggled to remember what he even had captchalogued. A flash of red signaled the base memory of the Universe Glaive (it was a reward for beating the game, the name was stupid, the entire game was stupid) - was as easy as moving his wrist.   
  
_Fight, watch out, dodge._

Dirks katana barely met Dave in time, but it did - he was already halfway past the battle. The largest part of swordplay, as he had been taught, was stalking the opponent and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He was lucky that he hadnt been caught completely unaware. He could remember the routine as well as yesterday, he couldn't just swing it like a baseball bat (while yes, if the pointy end went into the opponent he would win), he had to draw with a more forceful cut. Like the one when he cut off Dirks head, the memory hurt - he felt like he was going to choke. Everything was moving too fast to linger though, he could mourn the brother he couldnt have later. Right now he needed to survive.   
  
_Draw your elbows in, bring the edge of the blade down on him._  
  
The draw technique was fluid, one that ached in his muscles which felt much older than the memory - a memory where he was still spry wire and taught, lean muscle he never should have had. He could feel his arm tensing, and relaxed it as he forced the katana (why was it even called a glaive, it was a classic katana not to be called anything else) in a duress that could have been called vengeful. His opponent just dodged, but it was not with the grace that Dave knew - this was not the same bro, his bro was stronger than that. He knew he caught something though, a scrape against the chest. Dave _was_ stronger, and this was proving it. He was winning. But that wasnt right.  
  
_Something_ is _wrong, he would never heal like this, he would never be stronger than bro and he knew it_

He felt wild, under his glasses, and ran in again, sword held in over his head and pointing downward.

 _He could remember the wound, there was a loud pop and he could see white under that fleshy pink. The bathroom was hot, and he had long since looked in the mirror to assess the damage. There was nothing like DIY surgery, but he would never be able to get over that knot in his stomach which had him keeling. The blood was rancid, even after taking a shower he could see the remaining beads seeping out of the cut on his chest. At least it wasn't on his back, he couldn't treat his back.  
  
_Dave could see a flash of grey, arms much stronger than his looping under his arms and drawing him back. The force of it dropped the Universe Glaive to the floor, at the sound of it clattering, he flinched - he was going to be hit and there was nothing he could do aside from look away from that soulless, awful doll which he promised himself that he didnt hate. Because if he did, this wouldnt be ironic. But this time, there was no doll.   
  
There was only Dirk, without his glasses and afraid - bloodied, not by some enemy, not by Jack, not by bro, but by him. Dave thought he was going to have a heart attack. There was no escapism to get out of this one, no amount of time travel to get away that wouldnt stop things from resurfacing. 

_Its quiet again, its always quiet. There is nobody in all of Texas who could hear him. It was like a numbing balm that coated the entire apartment, separating it from the world._

The bar was still loud, but not obnoxiously this time. It was the loud of a fight, which was so much worse than silence that he almost felt relieved, then sickened again at the same time. Dave was so glad that he wasnt crying, but he could hardly tell if he was anyway - his face was hot and his insides pressed against his chest so violently that he could feel his ribs threatening to shatter. His voice was hoarse, and what he first thought was a backing track to his own thought was actually like a rewind tape coming from his own tape. What was worse is that he could see Dirk, who was afraid, and he could see his own face - sick and bloody in the bathroom mirror. 

_That was the thing about living alone with bro, he didnt even know he had siblings - he couldnt even be angry that they werent experiencing what he was._

He could recognize Kanayas voice now. It was her arms that restrained him, keeping him in place - was she always this strong? He felt dizzy.

_Dave had all sorts of ways of first aid, because it wasn't like Bro was going to keep little boxes with a red cross on them around the apartment. If he was going to be strong, he had to teach his body to heal._

Kanaya was saying something, it was along the lines of 'calm down' and 'count', and the practiced method in her voice almost put bile in his throat.   
  
"He's just drunk, dudebro, I got this."

That was Roxy. He could hear concern, no - he could see it, and Dave thought he was going to vomit he was so nauseous. Then Kanaya let go, and he found himself in Roxy's arms. She was saying something too. They were walking, Dave could recognise that she was taking him outside, to one of their houses. Hell, he didn't know which. She was asking him questions. What happened? Where were his keys? Where was his phone. A hoarse sob cracked out of Daves mouth.

 _He is so much like bro._

**Author's Note:**

> ok so im rereading this and it sound edgy, but tbh thats what happens when you a playah. Thats on god :pensive: :fist:
> 
> I believe that Dave is stronger than Dirk, and am willing to argue this point. 
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter ill post at some point when I reread it for errors - gonna cover the aftermath and some logical thinking on daves part.


End file.
